


Of Dinner and Desires

by IneffableHusbands95, KittieHill



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Arguing, Awkwardness, Banter, Barebacking, Bisexual John Watson, Blow Jobs, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Brotherly Love, Brotherly snark, Confused John, Conversations, Dates, Dating, Declarations Of Love, Dick Pics, Drama, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Time Blow Jobs, Flirting, Gay Sherlock Holmes, It Gets Better, Its funnier than the tags suggest, Jealous Sherlock, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, John is overwhelmed, Kissing, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Masturbation in Shower, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Porn With Plot, Possessive Sherlock, Powerful Mycroft, Pretend Kisses, Sexual Tension, Sherlock and Mycroft make up, Sherlock knows Space, Shower Sex, Soft Sherlock Holmes, They love each other really, They're so in love we might die, This will probably make you cry, Top John Watson, True Love, Truth Confessions, Upset Sherlock Holmes, Virgin Sherlock, We are going to hell for this fic, We cringed so much writing this, discussion of safe sex, fake kisses, if thats a thing, it wasn't easy guys, miserable sherlock, proposal, sad wanking, scheming mycroft, shocked Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:28:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26878987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableHusbands95/pseuds/IneffableHusbands95, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: Mycroft bared his teeth and glared before softening. “Surprisingly, I do have better things to do than watch you drink yourself into a self-pitying stupor.” He looked like he might get up and walk out, but he inhaled, fixed his collar and then ordered a gin and tonic from the bar staff who looked at the strange man but scurried off to fix his drink immediately. “We need to discuss your attraction to my brother.”
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 108
Kudos: 423





	1. Drowning His Sorrows

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first co-write between Chrissy and me. 
> 
> All kudos and comments appreciated!

John grumbled and swayed with a sluggish, tipsy blink as he motioned to the bored-looking bar staff to refill his pint, having downed the last swirling dregs from the bottom of the glass. The heat of the room was almost overwhelming, with summer well on its way and an evening full of excited work parties and chattering friend groups meeting around him. John slumped further into his seat and sighed sadly. 

This was all Sherlock’s fault.

Well, no. That wasn’t strictly true. It was both of their faults because Sherlock was happily and monogamously married to his work and John was too much of a coward to bring up the awkward topic of his newly realised feelings towards his flatmate. John had rambled embarrassingly to Greg instead, making the DI shift anxiously in his seat as the whole sordid mess came tumbling from John’s lips.

Still Sherlock’s fault. Him and his stupid, glorious arse.

Greg had excused himself politely after a couple of hours, leaving John alone to finish his drink and brood unhappily as he was nudged and knocked by other pub-goers who were much happier and optimistic. John had paid for his drink, took two large gulps and then replaced it back onto the beer mat as someone sat beside him in the vacant seat which Greg had once occupied.

John turned his head, wondering if perhaps he might find a suitable, unattached person in which to have a crafty snog and try to work out some of the building sexual tension which seemed to be almost at a rolling, boiling point inside him.

The first thing he noticed was that the person beside him was male. Although John had found he was more open to indulging in a sexual relationship with Sherlock, he didn’t think he could try with any other male. The second was that sitting beside him was the British Government himself.

_Bollocks._

Mycroft sat with his haughty nose in the air, looking uncomfortable as he looked at the other patrons and winced at what he was obviously deducing. John was drunk enough to hold back the noise of shock - but only just.

“Wha’ you doing here?” John asked, frowning dramatically and splashing a drop of his drink onto the fleshy part of his thumb which he leaned down and sucked into his mouth, “Don’ you have -- erm -- the --” he realised he had no idea what insult to use and simply muttered “Piss off.”

“Charming, Doctor Watson as ever.” Mycroft sniffed. “I was made aware that you would be here.”

“Ha! S’if you didn’t watch CCTV and track me,” John grumbled as he took another swig of his drink.

Mycroft bared his teeth and glared before softening.

“Surprisingly, I do have better things to do than watch you drink yourself into a self-pitying stupor.” He looked like he might get up and walk out, but he inhaled and fixed his collar, ordering a gin and tonic from the bar staff who looked at the strange man, but scurried off to fix his drink immediately.

"We need to discuss your attraction to my brother.”

John choked, spraying Mycroft directly in the face with a mouthful of drink. 

"I have no idea what you are talking about!" he hissed as Mycroft dabbed at his dripping face and collar with a monogrammed kerchief with an unimpressed scowl, still not quite drunk enough to ignore the icy panic that washed over him. 

Mycroft sighed impatiently. 

“Dr Watson, _please_. The feelings you possess for Sherlock are so obvious you might as well wear a neon, flashing sign. Obvious to everyone but Sherlock, apparently.”

 _Well shit_.

“Wait a minute. Bloody _Lestrade_! He sent you, didn’t he!” John glared, slamming his fists down exagerratedly on the table.

Mycroft cringed, turning to see if any other patrons had taken notice of the commotion. They had. 

“Yes. He is quite worried about you, and I for one would also like to see my brother stop moping about the place like an oversized toddler, so I have devised a strategy to bring the two of you together.”

John frowned deeply. 

Was Mycroft saying what he thought he was saying or were those drinks finally catching up with him?

“Are you suggesting Sherlock has feelings for me?”

“Keep up, John. Now, my brother is never going to just admit to having an interest in you, so we are going to have to motivate him by playing to his extremely jealous nature.” 

John was now _very_ confused.

“In order to do so, I am going to take you on a date.”

“Beg your pardon?” John wheezed, mouth slightly agape.

“Does Saturday work for you? There is a new restaurant I have been meaning to visit, and we might as well kill two birds with one stone, as it were.”

“Well, I... _umm_...Wait… this is… are you… what?” John blinked, so confused that he momentarily felt sick.

“Do you want to become a couple with my brother, or not? Because I can walk out of here with no hint of trouble.” Mycroft sneered, wincing at the shrill laugh of a woman behind them.

“Of course I do! It’s just…” John tried to argue, only to be cut off.

“Good, I will make the reservation and text you the details, since I doubt you will actually remember much of this conversation in the morning” Mycroft smiled tightly, retrieving his umbrella and rising to his feet.

John just sat, blinking up at him. 

“Make sure to make my brother aware of our little arrangement, Dr Watson. Talk up how excited you are to spend time with me, and make it believable. You know Sherlock and his little deductions.”

Before John could even form some sort of semi-decent reply, the British Government nodded to him and was out the door so quickly he was left staring at the empty chair, wondering if he had ever been there at all.


	2. Redhead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John allowed himself to indulge in imagining that rather than his own hand, it was Sherlock’s mouth he was rutting into desperately, those full lips wrapped around him as he fucked into his warm mouth, the younger man taking him deeper and deeper as he licked and sucked.

When John awoke the next morning, the first thing he noticed when he rolled over in bed was the pounding of his head. 

_He was getting too old for this shit. He needed to leave the drinking binges to the younger generation and put himself to bed with cocoa by 10pm._

Groaning, he reached for his phone on the nightstand, squinting at the painfully bright little screen.

A text from an unknown number appeared, so he opened it. 

**7:15 am**

**Dr Watson, a reservation has been made at Edulis restaurant for 7 pm Saturday.**

**Please be punctual.**

**MH.**

The conversation John had held with the eldest Holmes brother suddenly came flooding back, filling in the hazy gap in his memory and made his stomach swoop so dramatically that for a moment John had to gulp in a few breaths, pushing the nausea down rapidly.

He swore, recalling his agreement to go on a faux date with Mycroft _sodding_ Holmes.

What had he been thinking? He hadn't, obviously. 

Reaching for the glass of water at his bedside, John downed it and looked at the phone again just to double check it wasn’t a hallucination. When the text didn’t vanish, John threw himself back down onto the bed with a croaky groan as he tried to imagine what a date with Mycroft would entail. Lots of high-end wine and droning dull conversation about politics or policy, he expected.

John wondered if he might push for a little more NHS funding if he flirted well enough before he shook the images from his head and groaned with disgust.

“I have no sympathy,” came the deep voice from below. Sherlock was obviously awake. “You were incredibly intoxicated last night. It was annoying.”

“You’re annoying!” John grumbled under his breath, as he tried to sit up without wincing from the headache currently battering his skull.

_Yep. Definitely too old._

It took longer than John would like to admit before he was able to pull himself off the bed, dress in his comfy pyjama bottoms and robe before heading downstairs to use the loo. He brushed his teeth and then joined Sherlock in the kitchen, where the younger man was sitting fiddling with his microscope, a half drunk cup of tea and a plate of toast crumbs by his arm.

“M’rning.” John grunted as he poured himself a cup of extremely strong coffee, leaning back against the kitchen cabinets.

Sherlock pulled his eyes from the microscope to give John a look from top to bottom before sighing sadly.

“I see you were flirted with again. What's the matter? Not your type?” he said acidically.

Realising that it was no use lying to Sherlock, who would be able to see right through him, John gave a half shrug 

“Bit older than me. Redhead. Not my usual type but we’re going out on a date on Saturday.”

John watched as Sherlock’s mouth tightened, but he stayed silent. The air grew tense around them as John drank his coffee silently.

Seemingly unwilling to continue a conversation, John watched Sherlock for another long moment. He dumped his half empty coffee cup into the sink, before downing some ibuprofen for his head and trudging off towards the bathroom. 

“John?” Sherlock said, shoulders tight with tension.

“Mmm?” 

There was a moment of stillness, something in John was crying out for Sherlock to say something - _anything_! To admit that there was a chance and John would call it all off, tell Mycroft to bugger off and get out of their business. If only Sherlock would say something, then John could put this all behind them…

Sherlock had obviously wrestled with whatever he wanted to say, but instead muttered: “Make sure you rinse the bathtub out after you.”

John’s heart sunk, a feeling of indescribable sadness flooding through him as he deflated and nodded sadly. 

_Date night with Mycroft it is._

John wasted no time throwing off his clothes before stepping into the shower, sighing as the scalding hot water lashed down his back. 

He lasted all of a minute before his hand slowly snaked down to his prick. 

Closing his eyes, he braced his free hand against the wall as he wrapped his hand around himself, and began to slowly stroke himself. 

His thoughts went straight to the man sitting in the kitchen, as they had whenever he indulged in self pleasure for quite some time. 

John allowed himself to indulge in imagining that rather than his own hand, it was Sherlock’s mouth he was rutting into desperately, those full lips wrapped around him as he fucked into his warm mouth, the younger man taking him deeper and deeper as he licked and sucked.

He envisioned those long, slender fingers caressing his balls as he swallowed him down, reaching further back toward his entrance. 

Within a few short moments, he was close, his moans becoming harder to stifle.

His rock hard cock leaked precome as he quickened his pace, chasing release. 

When his orgasm ripped through him his knees buckled and he cried out Sherlock’s name and bit into his fist to stifle his loud cry as he came, painting his hand and the shower tiles in front of him with his hot seed. 

He hoped to _god_ Sherlock hadn’t heard him. 

When he came back to himself, the sudden crash back down to reality was more than he could take. 

He slid down to the floor of the shower, wrapping his arms around his knees and silently sobbing as the water beat down on his head. 

Parting his lips in anguish, he began to rock back and forth as he cried. 

Mycroft Holmes was a sodding _moron_. 

The detective cared for him no more than he did anyone else. 

But at the same time, he had made an agreement to see this plan of Mycroft’s through, and Mycroft Holmes did not strike John as a man that took well to being told no.

Besides, at this point what more did he have to lose? At least he would get a posh meal that he wouldn’t be footing the bloody bill for. 

John took a moment to collect himself, before lethargically dragging himself upright. 

He cleaned away his mess before stepping out of the shower and back into his robe, striding back into his bedroom to dress. 

When there was a knock at his door he was still in the middle of angrily towling at his wet hair.

“Sherlock?” he frowned when they met eyes in the doorway. 

“Hello. I heard a loud noise emanate from the bathroom, so came to check on you. But clearly you are perfectly uninjured, so I’ll go” Sherlock nodded, turning to scurry off. 

John’s face reddened. 

Had he imagined it, or had there been the slightest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of Sherlock’s mouth as he spoke?

 _Shit_. 

* * *

The few days which followed the awkward-wanking-incident as John was starting to mentally call it, were fairly quiet. John went to work and returned home to Sherlock where they ate their meals in companionable quiet, sharing rooms but barely having any conversation that wasn’t small talk. Sherlock seemed to be watching John more intently, and John ensured that he peppered in small details about his upcoming date. 

He had started by asking Sherlock’s opinion on a new shirt ( _which Sherlock insulted as ugly)_ and then coaxing Sherlock to give him a suggestion as to a new cologne. Sherlock had narrowed his eyes, glared and then done a quick google search to seemingly find the most ridiculously overpriced brand that John wouldn’t have been able to afford even if he sold his organs on the black market. The tension didn’t seem to lessen as Saturday rolled around, and John was a ball of nervous energy, annoying Sherlock by fussing in the kitchen to give himself something to do whilst waiting for his date. 

“I’ve not seen you this excited for one of your dreary dates before,” Sherlock practically snarled from his prone position on the sofa, “Tell me, what’s special about her?”

“It’s not a her…” John replied without thinking and then turned just in time to see Sherlock’s neck practically snap as he turned it rapidly, eyes wild with shock and surprise and _was that a hint of something else?_

 _“Him, then”_ Sherlock spat. “You’re dating men now? Why, have you tampered with the entire supply of sexual age women in London and the surrounding areas?”

John smirked, Sherlock obviously had a much higher opinion of John’s sex life than was strictly true.

“Just thought I'd try something new…”

Snorting with disdain, Sherlock rolled his eyes “Oh please, _something new_ normally means a new haircut or a new pair of underpants. Not swapping to a penis.”

“Why are you even bothered?” John asked.

“You must be more stupid than I believed if you think that I’m bothered by your urge for hormonal rutting…” Sherlock hissed, “So go on then, what’s _his_ name?”

“Mycroft.” 

John had his back turned to Sherlock as he said the word, stupidly choosing that moment to turn to put a cup back in the cupboard. But he didn’t miss the hitching inhale, the change in atmosphere as Sherlock computed what John had just said. 

The next thing John knew, he was being spun round by a furious looking Sherlock who pinned John against the kitchen cabinets.

“My _brother_?”

“How many other Mycroft’s are there in London?” John attempted to bite back, but his hips were already desperately seeking out the heat from Sherlock, urging them to touch.

“I forbid it.” Sherlock said, eyes as small and dangerous as his cheeks were flushed. He looked every inch the dangerous madman that John had been warned about.

“You don’t get a choice,” John answered. “We’re not a couple. You’re married to your work. You were very clear about that.”

A small undecipherable flicker of emotion that John was almost certain he had imagined interrupted Sherlock’s scowl for a moment, and he finally let go of him, stepping back.

“That may be true, but of all the men in London, why _Mycroft_ for fuck’s sake John? Is _nothing_ sacred?”

John had never heard Sherlock swear, not once in their year of cohabitation and hearing the words come from that posh mouth shocked and surprised him for a second until he collected himself and responded.

“If you had bothered to even look up in the last few months, you would have noticed that your brother and I have been bonding recently. He grounds me when I feel like I’m being crushed by the weight of my life, and he makes me feel _special_. So when he asked me out, of course I bloody well said yes, Sherlock!” he snapped.

Sherlock’s jaw clenched, and he turned his head away. 

“I’m sorry if that upsets you, but that’s not my problem, Sherlock.”

The lies left a bitter taste in John’s mouth as they tumbled from his lips. But if Sherlock really did care for him as much as Mycroft claimed, they would sting even more to hear, and he _hated_ the thought of hurting him. 

Not for the first time, he found himself briefly wondering whether the whole thing was just a brutal scheme Mycroft had designed to screw with his younger brother and hurt John all at the same time, just for kicks. He was a Holmes, after all. 

“You have clearly made up your mind, John, so I suppose there isn’t much point in trying to talk you out of this insanity. That man has all the personality of a wet sock, so I hope you enjoy your _date_. The two of you deserve each other!” 

Before John could speak, Sherlock spun on his heels and disappeared, his departure punctuated by his bedroom door slamming so hard the china rattled in the cupboards. 

John sighed wearily and glanced at his watch. 

_Shit_ , it was already six o’clock. 

Trying to put the awful argument with Sherlock to the back of his mind, John raced through the shower and shaved, almost nicking himself twice in his haste.

When he found himself face to face with his wardrobe, he swore. 

What was the appropriate attire for the occasion of going on a pretend date with the most important man in London, to make one’s maddeningly sexy flatmate and work partner jealous?

Some time later, when John had finally donned what he hoped was the appropriaten outfit, and it was ten minutes until he was due to leave, the reality of what he was about to do hit home and the _panic_ set in. 

Was he really about to go out with Mycroft Holmes? 

What if he really did enjoy spending time with the man? What if he _tried something_ , and John actually sodding _liked_ it? It wasn’t as though he’d had any previous experience with men to compare it with.  
  
 _Fuck_.

He began pacing back and forth across the length of the small room, his chest beginning to tighten in the familiar beginnings of an anxiety attack.

He was too bloody old to be in a fucking _love triangle_ \- being in love with one Holmes had already given him at least three of his frown lines, he doubted he could survive two of them.

Slowly he lowered himself onto the end of his bed and forced himself to take a series of deep breaths until he could think clearly over the thumping of his racing heart. 

This meant nothing to Mycroft, he reminded himself. It was merely an arrangement that benefited them both, a means to an end. 

Another glance at his watch determined that he needed to leave immediately if he was to avoid being late, and he wasn’t keen to find out how Mycroft would react to being kept waiting.

Taking one last glance at his reflection, he sighed and headed out toward the front door. 

Just as he was about to close the door behind him, a very aggressive violin tune that reminded him of the sound of swarming bees began emanating from Sherlock’s bedroom. 

He didn’t even have to wonder what was behind this particular composition.

“Forgive me for what I’m about to do, Sherlock” he whispered and stepped out onto the street. 


	3. A Surprise Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "John?" 
> 
> "Hmm?"
> 
> "I am going to kiss you now. Passionately."
> 
> John's breathing hitched slightly and his stomach plummeted.
> 
> “I…” John started, falling silent when Mycroft slowly leaned across the table until they were eye to eye, mere inches between their lips. 
> 
> From this proximity, John could smell the other man’s spicy cologne, a total parallel to anything Sherlock had ever worn on the few occasions when he had actually bothered to wear any. 

The taxi ride was filled with nervous and rambling conversation with the cabbie who seemed a little bit put out by the anxious man behind him. John talked about football, about London life and his military service before he went quiet as they pulled up to the restaurant. Taking a deep and shaky breath, John paid his fare and then climbed out, straightening his clothing and then steeling himself as he entered the posh entrance. 

The maître-d’ looked John up and down as he stepped inside, obviously believing that John’s Marks and Spencer clothing wasn’t high-class enough to be given entrance to the establishment, but his look of derision stopped as soon as Mycroft walked over and smiled at John.

John allowed his gaze to look up and down Mycroft’s body. The other man had obviously dressed to impress, although he always looked smart and elegant, his three-piece suit in a dark blue crossed pattern made his eyes stand out brighter and his red hair look that touch more smooth.  _ Bloody hell  _ John thought with a slight thud of his heart and a swoop of his belly,  _ He’s actually not bad looking really. Shame about the personality. _

The maître-d rushed out an apology in a language John didn’t understand and immediately walked both men to their table which was conveniently placed at the back of the room, set apart from other people without making it obvious. 

John took his seat opposite Mycroft, looking around at the soft lighting, romantic candles and extremely expensive-looking décor and for a brief moment felt a pang of self-consciousness. He didn't belong in places like this.

Mycroft shifted his weight, also looking around the room and humming appreciatively, obviously more used to being around the finer things in life. It made John feel awkward and uneasy which only worsened when he asked, “So… How was your day at work?”

Mycroft crossed his legs beneath the table and sighed, “Far above your clearance level to discuss.”

“Ah...” John muttered, cheeks beginning to heat. This was just as awkward as he had imagined.

“We do not have to have a conversation.” Mycroft insisted, “We merely need to be sitting together for approximately one hour and forty-three minutes in order for the ruse to be most effective. We don't need to speak.”

“This is stupid.” John sighed, throwing his hands up in a dramatic flourish, “So we just sit opposite each other, in silence, and watch the timer ticking away until you can get rid of me?”

“I wasn't going to set a timer...” Mycroft half shrugged.

“No. I thought – I thought this would work. That it would be worth it but I'm not going to just sit here in silence whilst eating food I can't even afford. If I wanted to sit opposite someone who doesn't like me and judges me continuously then I'd have stayed at home.” John seethed.

“If that is what you want,” Mycroft said coolly. “But I am telling you that if you want Sherlock to be pushed into realising his own feelings about you, then this is the way to do it. But by all means, go back to the flat, try and do it your own way and see if you're still in a cycle of misery in a year's time. I can guarantee you will be.”

“Why are you such a prick, Mycroft?” John hissed, startling one of the waiters who had passed by and who looked at them in alarm. “I'm trying my hardest here! I don't know what else you want me to do!”

Their knees accidentally brushed under the table, and John blushed, yanking his away like he had been stung. 

At that moment he just wanted to go  _ home.  _

“I want you to stop complaining like a spoiled child.” Mycroft sighed, clicking the button on his phone so it lit up and he could see the time and no new text messages, “We are not a couple. I am not attempting to woo you. I am merely helping you out a selfish need for some  _ peace.” _

John considered hitting Mycroft. He wondered if some secret service goon would jump out and kill him immediately, and for a second John wondered if it might be worth it but he unclenched his jaw and his fist.

“John...” Mycroft shifted, “I know that you think me cold and uncaring –“

“Because you  _ are _ ,” John challenged.

“But this whole arrangement is for you. For Sherlock” Mycroft said softly. “If it was anybody else I wouldn't care.”

John signed, and studied the man for a moment. 

"You really do care about him, don't you? I'm no Holmes, but it's plain to see even without a genius-level IQ." 

"Yes. Now here we are, stuck in this insane nightmare where I am to pretend to care about you as well, only in a much more humiliating manner."

John wrung his hands under the table, absentmindedly taking note of all possible exit routes should he decide to make a run for it. 

His exit strategy was immediately ruined with the arrival of a waiter. John watched with a frown as the man began to talk excitedly to Mycroft in french, gesturing wildly before he reached for the tablet they used for food orders and then stood back, catching both men with a photographic flash that made John’s eyes suddenly burn.

“Wait… WAIT! What was he saying?!” John asked, knowing that his secondary school education in French wasn’t going to help at all. He knew how to ask for a cheese sandwich and where the swimming pool was - not really something suitable for this situation.

“He…” Mycroft gulped, “He said that we made a beautiful couple. He said that he follows your blog and he often takes celebrity pictures to use in marketing… God. He’s going to post it to their social media account.”

“No!” John panicked, the deep-seated internal homophobia causing a sudden jolt of pain through his insides.

“Oh stop,” Mycroft grouched, immediately climbing from his seat and grabbing his mobile phone, “Nobody in your pathetic little social circle would care if you were a flaming homosexual for goodness sake. It’s incredibly insulting!”

“Wait… I wasn’t! I didn’t!” John spluttered as he watched Mycroft storm off, chasing the manager and reprimanding him so thoroughly that the manager went deathly pale, nodding rapidly and looking like he was going to faint. John saw the power and the fear in which Mycroft traded and he was actually quite impressed.

When Mycroft returned to the table he put his mobile phone down first, sliding into his chair and fiddling with his cuffs as he took a deep breath.

“I informed him that he was putting himself, his staff and all of the patrons of the restaurant in immediate danger by revealing state secrets. The picture must have only been up seconds, so hopefully, no harm has been done.” Mycroft muttered, “Goodness, this ridiculous notion has been more trouble than it's worth!”

"This was  _ your _ idea, Mycroft." 

"One that I am quickly starting to regret having. Do you have your gun?" 

_ Get me out of here. _

“Why would I have my gun on a fucking date?” John hissed, face bright red.

“Then we best hope that if anything is to happen, my emergency team can be here in seconds as is their brief,” Mycroft grumbled.

They lapsed back into another excruciatingly awkward silence until John finally decided he couldn't take it anymore. 

"Look we might as well try to make this as bearable as possible for both of us. So...start talking. I don't even care if it has to be about the bloody  _ weather _ or something." 

"Fine!"  Mycroft cleared his throat, his mouth opening and closing a few times, as he groped for a conversation starter. 

Suddenly Mycroft's phone, which had been pushed into John's range of vision by his earlier fidgeting, lit up. Before Mycroft was able to reach across the table and snatch it out of view, John was treated to a high definition closeup of a very large and rather erect cock which stood out so brightly that John was certain that if he closed his eyes, he would see it burned onto his retinas. 

"Jesus Christ, a friend of yours?" John asked, unable to fight the smirk that tugged at his lips. 

"That is none of your concern, Doctor Watson" Mycroft glared, his cheeks reddening even further when a burst of text message alerts sounded from the phone that was now hidden in his pocket. 

"Seems like someone really wants to talk to you, Mycroft. Maybe you should get that?" John teased, voice laced with amusement. 

"I see breaking the news to Sherlock went badly,” Mycroft suddenly said, in desperation to change the topic. He flicked open the offered wine menu to avoid eye contact, giving John only half his attention as he made a decision. He answered in perfect french, handing the menu back with a dismissive air so that the waiter’ scurried away quickly.

“Yeah…” John sighed, thankful to be away from the conversation of penises or social media “Little bit. He didn’t seem overly happy about the situation.”

“That’s because my brother is a frustrating manchild.” Mycroft responded, lifting his hand to stop John from arguing, “He always has been. I suppose I indulged him too much, but…” Mycroft looked away, eyes lingering on one of the many candles which were dotted around the room to give a romantic ambience, “He was my only brother. He -- He took a shine to me, you see. From birth, he was more my child than he was my parent’s. Mummy is delightful, but she didn’t always have the patience to deal with Sherlock or his tantrums.”

“So you stepped in?” John asked, leaning back when a new and thankfully silent waiter brought their bottle over, pouring a little for Mycroft to taste where he quickly nodded and allowed their glasses to be filled. John thanked the man, taking a sip of the wine and feeling the taste burst onto his taste buds with a delicious tang, “Mm...s’good. Thanks.”

Mycroft nodded his head once as a thanks to John’s comment and swirled his drink, taking smaller and more delicate sips as he began to speak, “I would take Sherlock outside and we would look at the stars. I would tell him about the planets and the solar system. We would make up stories about alien planets and spaceships, about little green men and the moon being made of cheese.”

“Wait… Sherlock doesn’t know anything about the solar system.” John frowned with confusion, “He admitted as much…”

“He deleted it. After -- When I went away to university he felt like he had been abandoned. He was eleven, just becoming that age when everything is confusing and your body feels alien. I suppose he felt like he needed someone there to steer him through it, to tell him what to expect when his body began to change and he began to feel -- differently to the other boys.”

“Oh…” John muttered, “You knew he was…”

“Gay?” Mycroft smiled shyly, “Yes, John. I’ve known that since he was six years old. Just as I knew myself that I was similarly inclined. I could have… should have... “ he sighed and rubbed at his face nervously before giving a half shrug, “I apologise, this isn’t why we are here tonight.”

“Actually, it sort of is?” John replied as he got more comfortable. The drama of their night made everything suddenly seem softer, made Mycroft seem looser like this, more human, definitely more vulnerable and John felt like he could relate. “I want to know all of your brother. I want to understand him more than I do. I know what he likes now, I know how he feels and his moods, I know what makes him bristle and what makes him giggle - but I don’t know anything about his past.”

Mycroft nodded understandingly, but John couldn't help but notice that every few moments the other man would turn his head just slightly enough to subtly scan the room, as though he were looking for something.

Suddenly he reached out to lace John's fingers with his across the table, and John stiffened in surprise.

"Dr Watson I don't wish to alarm you, but we are being watched. Don't turn around."

" _ What _ ?" John hissed, but a subtle kick from his date under the table forced him into adopting a matching fake smile. 

"I knew that Sherlock would most likely send some sort of informant to keep him abreast of everything that occurred here tonight, and the success of this little plan somewhat depends on it. I hoped he wouldn’t find us quite so quickly, but I assume the idiocracy of the manager only furthered Sherlock’s abilities to seek us out." 

"Oh, I see" John gulped, an uncomfortable shiver passing over him at the thought of a pair of eyes watching their every move, of someone being sent the picture of John and Mycroft in their booth so that person knew who to look for...

He didn't know why he was surprised, it was a very Sherlock thing to do. 

Mycroft raised his wine glass to his lips, taking a generous sip. 

"John?" 

"Hmm?"

"I am going to kiss you now. Passionately."

John's breathing hitched slightly and his stomach plummeted.

“I…” John started, falling silent when Mycroft slowly leaned across the table until they were eye to eye, mere inches between their lips. 

From this proximity, John could smell the other man’s spicy cologne, a total parallel to anything Sherlock had ever worn on the few occasions when he had actually bothered to wear any. 

When their lips first touched, Mycroft’s kiss was surprisingly chaste. John’s response was awkward and stiff, unable to respond convincingly to the caress in the knowledge that he was kissing Mycroft Holmes in a  _ room full of people.  _

Feeling his unease, Mycroft’s hand slid up to cradle and rub the side of John’s neck. He was unsure whether the gesture was intended to soothe him or add effect to their little display, but it worked. John returned his kiss with all the enthusiasm he could muster, but within moments he was genuinely enjoying himself as they leisurely embraced one another’s warm lips. 

Mycroft’s kiss was comforting, but nothing more, and John decided he was more than fine with that.

Mycroft bit John’s bottom lip lightly, and John let out a gasp that Mycroft used as an opportunity to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue between his lips to explore his mouth with vigour. Mycroft tasted of the fine wine they had been sipping as their tongues met. John’s little moans were stolen away from him as they gasped into each other’s mouths. 

Moments later Mycroft released John, and their eyes locked as they sat back in their chairs.    


A cursory glance around the restaurant confirmed John’s suspicion that several diners had been staring, obviously confused why the couple who had spent the majority of the first hour arguing viciously were suddenly snogging, and his cheeks heated. The whole room felt like it was spinning, and he had to take a series of deep breaths to calm himself, knuckles white as he gripped the table.

Mycroft quirked an eyebrow, grinning. 

“Are you quite alright, Dr Watson? You look as though you may faint.”

John cleared his throat, tugging at his collar. 

“Quite alright, thank you. Just processing. That was... _ um _ .”

“Eloquently put. I’m going to take that as a compliment” Mycroft laughed. 

“I apologise for being so awkward, I haven’t kissed a man in...well...ever” John admitted, making the other man smile again. 

Their meals arrived a moment later, and they sat in silence as they ate. 

“John, I feel the need to make a confession, but it's imperative this information stays between you and I” Mycroft eventually said, breaking the silence. 

“You have my word.”

“I want to assure you that there is no need for awkwardness between us, as I have already found a partner of my own, in Gregory Lestrade.”

John’s shock was so total that his cutlery fell from his hands and clattered to the table. 

“Lestrade is… the two of you are...?” John stammered, unable to process this revelation.

“If the words missing from that sentence were ‘ _ bisexual _ ’ and ‘ _ together _ ’, then my answer to both is yes, very much so.”

“I had no idea.” 

Mycroft scoffed. “Generally, that tends to be the point of keeping a secret, I find.” 

“Wow,” John muttered, spearing another piece of broccoli with his newly picked up cutlery, “Well - Congratulations. Greg is a good guy.”

“He is.” Mycroft smiled shyly, something complicated passing over his eyes as he looked at John, “He is far better than I deserve.”

“That’s not true…” John stated, waving the broccoli at Mycroft, before he blinked twice quickly and then gasped, “Wait! Did I see Greg’s penis?! Was that Greg’s dick on your phone?”

Mycroft looked like he wanted to melt into an embarrassed puddle but he tried to play with a poker face, giving a half shrug. “Perhaps.”

“Jesus, I’ve just seen Lestrade’s bellend. Bloody hell. The filthy devil.” John grinned, and soon both he and Mycroft were flushed and downing another glass of wine to try to end the awkwardness.

“John, please… Please let's stop this torture and concentrate on your utterly shocking love life in order to help me feel better?” Mycroft groaned, adding more wine to his glass and knocking it back.

John smiled but focussed on eating, allowing the quiet ambience of the restaurant to wash over him as he cut into his food. The food was delicious, far superior than John had ever had before and he indulged with every mouthful, thankful that Mycroft was footing the bill ( _ or he hoped so - they hadn’t actually discussed the matter of the cost…) _ . He had started to relax, had started to understand who and what Mycroft was. He was a protective big brother first, and a stressed parental figure second. It suddenly all added up and clicked together, the final piece of the puzzle. 

“By the way, it isn't true, what you said about Greg being better than you deserve. Sure, you can be a bit of a tit sometimes, but I believe it is always with the best intentions. I was a bit pissed off with you when that whole kidnapping thing happened at the start - but I understand why you felt the need to do it. Somebody coming into Sherlock’s life so out of the blue and intensely. Moving in, starting a job together all after one meeting? Bit weird really.”

“Quite,” Mycroft sighed, “Sherlock is… special. I would use the resources of the entire realm in order to keep him safe.” He blushed slightly at the comment and then soldiered on, “But I do not feel quite as pressured anymore. Yes, you and Sherlock can be a nuisance to myself and my staff but I don’t have to worry about him relapsing, or ending up with some terrible infection from one of his injuries. You have…” Mycroft shifted awkwardly, obviously finding it difficult to express his feelings, “You have been a positive influence on him, on the whole.”

“You know I would never hurt him, right?” John asked, this time it was he who reached over to take Mycroft’s hand, purely to get his attention and cement the point he was making, “I -- I care very deeply for him.”

“You love him.” Mycroft responded, “It’s plainly obvious for everyone to see. And he loves you back but… My brother - he... “ the older Holmes sighed, seemingly weighing up the decision to speak freely, “Sherlock does not have the experiences which you do… He has not… I am unaware of him ever going further than a few teenage kisses.”

John felt his face heat and his cheeks burn as he became aware of what Mycroft was suggesting. It wasn’t that John didn’t  _ think  _ that Sherlock was a virgin, he had assumed as much, but hearing it being confirmed made his head spin.

“Do you think he… Would he…” John rambled and then shut his mouth,

“Are you asking me if my brother would want to engage in coitus with you?” Mycroft asked, turning his nose up slightly and slipping his hand from John’s, “I have no reason to believe otherwise. Sherlock’s indicators suggest that he wants a sexual relationship with you, but I believe that he is afraid. He is afraid because you have a higher degree of experience and - well, frankly you’re a highly sexed individual who expects a certain role to be played. Sherlock has never, and probably would never, attempt that without a push.” He gestured between them as if to say  _ and here we are. _ __   
__   
John’s blush deepened even further. 

Had Mycroft Holmes really just called him _highly sexed_ , especially after he was gifted an unwanted _peep-show_ of Greg’s _dick_? Mycroft _really_ wasn't one to talk. 

“So Lestrade is actually comfortable with all of... _ this _ ? The two of you must have a very trusting relationship,” John remarked with a vague gesture between the two of them, desperate to divert the conversation away from any further discussion of his preferences between the sheets.

Mycroft barked out a laugh. 

“Comfortable is an understatement; this was half his idea. You have no need to concern yourself with the health of my relationship, John.” 

John relaxed a little, beyond glad to hear that he wasn’t about to be a bloody  _ homewrecker _ . 

Conversation between them flowed much better from that point, the pair chatting amicably over dessert until it started getting late and Mycroft’s car arrived to pick them up. 

The car ride back to John’s flat was mostly silent, John too lost in thoughts of what would be awaiting him when he arrived home to keep up a conversation. 

“I want you to know you are actually quite a proficient kisser, John Watson. My brother is a very lucky man. I’m almost envious I can’t keep you for myself, but Gregory and I haven't discussed where we stand on threesomes yet, anyway” Mycroft said nonchalantly as they were nearing their destination, as easily as if he were talking about the weather. 

John choked on a surprised laugh. 

“ _ Jesus Christ  _ Mycroft, people don’t just say things like that! Especially not after what I witnessed today! I’ll never be able to look Greg in the eye again!” 

“Apparently  _ I _ do. If you think I’m not going to be bragging to Greg that I got to kiss one of the most eligible bachelors in London for at least the next week, you’re sorely mistaken, Dr Watson. It will be worth it, no matter how many times he slaps me.” 

"You think I'm attractive?"

"I might be taken, but I do have  _ eyes,  _ John."

John started to giggle, which in turn set Mycroft off, and before John knew it they were both howling with childish laughter. 

They wiped the tears from their eyes as the car rolled to a stop, and Mycroft made a deliberate show of getting out to open John’s door for him rather than letting the driver do it, presumably for the benefit of the detective who was most likely spying on them from the flat. 

“Alright, I suppose this is where we say our goodbyes, John” Mycroft said, leaning against the car to study the doctor. 

John nodded, eyes flicking up to the living room window which shifted and spread a little light, showing that Sherlock was watching. He was surprised to find himself disappointed that the night was over-he’d had more fun with the older Holmes than he ever could have expected. He was starting to realise what Lestrade saw in the man; when Mycroft let his guard down he was a totally different person. 

John stepped a little closer to him, and wordlessly leaned up to press a kiss to the corner of Mycroft’s mouth, lingering for a few beats longer than necessary for the benefit of their one-man audience who was peeking out from the living room curtains. 

When he drew back the other man was staring at him with amused surprise.

“I just wanted to thank you for doing all of this, Mycroft, even though it wasn’t just for my benefit,” John said with a shrug. 

“You’re very welcome. I shall never wash my face again now” Mycroft whispered with mock reverence, fingers over the spot John had kissed.

John snorted, and smacked his shoulder. 

“Bloody  _ hell _ . Just go, will you?” 

Mycroft climbed back into the car, grinning like the cat who got the cream. 

“Good luck, John Watson. You deserve to be happy” he said through the window before the Mercedes sped off into the night. 

John stood on the pavement for a moment simply catching his breath. 

_ This was the weirdest date he had ever been on. And strangely, the best.  _

_ So far. _


	4. A Tender Embrace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You. Are. Mine.” Sherlock bit out, pushing himself against John so he could press his nose into the join of John’s neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply and sniffing the hidden scent of John, the smell not mingled with Mycroft’s heady cologne.
> 
> “You -- I --” John gasped,
> 
> “Shut up!” Sherlock barked again, “He cannot have you. He has everything else. He has the money, and the power, he has mummy’s love and fathers pride. He cannot have you, John. I won’t allow it.”

Suddenly alone, John stared up at 221B and sighed, breathing out a cloud in the cold night air.

_Here goes nothing._

Baker Street was in silence as John entered the flat, Mrs Hudson having obviously taken her _herbal soother_ earlier that night and was now sleeping peacefully. Starting up the stairs, John considered how weird his evening had been, Mycroft hadn’t been anything like he had expected, he had actually been _fun!_ And surprisingly flirty. 

_John had flirted with Mycroft Holmes_

“Fucking hell,” John muttered to himself with a dopey grin on his face, pushing open their unlocked front door and hanging up his coat and kicking off his shoes. He called out a greeting to Sherlock, aware that the man was around somewhere as he had seen the curtains twitching. Baker Street was still, tense, awaiting a confrontation and holding its breath. 

A movement to his left caught John off guard and before he could defend himself he was pushed against the wall. For a split second, John thought that it was an intruder, someone from one of their cases who had come for revenge on Sherlock, and the thought spiked panic through his stomach as he attempted to break the hold that he was in. He turned his head, clenched his fists and was met with Sherlock looking angrier and more broken than he had ever seen outside of one of Sherlock’s drug binges.

“What are you…” John began, only to be pushed further against the wall so his head connected roughly with the brick,

“Shut. Up.” Sherlock hissed, “You smell like him. You _stink!_ I cannot stand it.”

“Sherlock…” John began, flutters building to a frenzy in his belly as he attempted to explain. It had all gone too far, this was stupid and was going to end badly.

“You. Are. Mine.” Sherlock bit out, pushing himself against John so he could press his nose into the join of John’s neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply and _sniffing_ the hidden scent of John, the smell not mingled with Mycroft’s heady cologne.

“You -- I --” John gasped,

“Shut up!” Sherlock barked again, “He cannot have you. He has everything else. He has the money, and the power, he has mummy’s love and fathers pride. He cannot have you, John. I won’t allow it.”

“Sherlock…” John whispered, suddenly sad at putting Sherlock through this emotional whirlwind, “I don’t want him… I want _you_.”

“You kissed him.” Sherlock whined, going lax against John’s body but still inhaling, still indulging in the warmth, strong heat of his flatmate, “Your tongue was in his mouth… and _his… his was in yours!”_

“It meant nothing…” John promised, pulling Sherlock up so they could look at one another tenderly, John’s hand coming to cup Sherlock’s cheek, “I hoped… I wanted… God, I was thinking of you the entire time.”

John leaned in, attempting to kiss Sherlock only to be stopped when the detective pulled back, turning his head and avoiding John’s lips which made something deep in John’s belly clench.

“I thought…” John began, only for Sherlock to interrupt “I can’t kiss you. Not until you brush your teeth. I cannot have -- You need to wash away the taste of him. The scent of him. I want to delete the entire thing and start fresh.”

John closed his eyes, relieved that the detective wasn’t outright rejecting him.

“Alright,” he said softly as he removed himself from Sherlock’s grasp, “back in a few, then.” 

John made a beeline for the bathroom, showering and brushing his teeth faster than he had in his entire life. 

After a moment of brief deliberation, he donned a simple pair of pyjama pants and an old comfortable t-shirt, before returning to the living room. He had considered making a grand entrance sans clothing, but feared he would spook Sherlock, so decided against it. 

He found Sherlock standing by the window, looking out into the darkness at nothing in particular.

“Sherlock?” he called softly, laying a hand on the taller man’s shoulder. 

Sherlock turned to face him and gently pulled him closer, the fury gone from his eyes. 

“You smell much better now. Good.” 

John smiled. “I also brushed my teeth twice, even gave my tongue a good scrubbing.”

Sherlock looked nervous, incredibly twitchy as his large hands gripped at John’s back in an awkward attempt at a hug. It was obvious that the other man had no idea what to do with his hands, or any part of his body really. He was basically just holding onto John for dear life.

“Come on, let’s sit and talk…” John suggested, taking Sherlock by the hand and pulling him towards the sofa where he sat them both down with barely inches between their thighs.

“I… I ought to apologise.” John began as Sherlock began a rambled “I was upset.”

Neither man spoke and awkwardness grew in the stretched silence between them before John sighed and turned, grasping Sherlock’s cheek and pressing a slow and soft kiss to those plush lips which had been in his dreams for so long. Sherlock stiffened, nervous and skittish before he relaxed and let his lips fall slack enough for John to caress with his own. 

It was only then that John realised that Sherlock was trembling.

“Are you alright?” John asked, pulling back and watching as Sherlock swayed, eyes fluttering open and cheeks burning fever bright.

“Mmm.” Sherlock hummed, licking his lips and then looking down where their hands were now entwined together.

“Am I going too fast?” John nervously probed, feeling that his heart might explode if Sherlock said yes.

“No -- Yes -- No” Sherlock muttered, before clearing his throat. “I have -- There has never --” he paused to rub at his curls until they were a frizzy mess, “I have never been a sexual person. It has never interested me…”

John didn’t want to confess that Mycroft had told him as much, so he listened in silence as Sherlock attempted to explain his history.

“Nobody has ever held my attention for long enough that I wanted to become - vulnerable around them,” Sherlock said, blushing. “I have had -- attractions. A few over the years, but I have never acted upon it because I was always afraid that my feelings would be used against me. That they would be warped, and turned inwards until I was a laughing stock.” He looked away, and John saw a hint of the small, bullied boy in a private school. 

“I would never turn against you” John promised.

“I know…” Sherlock smiled weakly, still unable to meet John’s eyes. “That is why - If I am to do this… to indulge my carnal side which has been repressed for so long, it could only be you. It has to be you, John.” 

A warm feeling washed over John at the words, at the thought that Sherlock trusted him so implicitly with something that he had struggled with for so long. Perhaps Mycroft really had been right, after all.

How had it taken the intervention of Mycroft Holmes for him to see what was right in front of his face?

He wondered just how many clues he had missed, how many signs that the detective wanted him just as badly as John did.

“Please don’t feel pressured into anything, Sherlock. I’m not going anywhere” he said softly in the small space between them, stroking one of the younger man’s sharp cheekbones reverently. 

Sherlock offered an uneasy smile, but there was no mistaking the trust in his eyes. 

“Could we try that again?” Sherlock whispered, eyes flickering down to John’s lips. 

John smiled, leaning up to recapture Sherlock’s mouth. 

The other man’s hesitation was gone in seconds, lips moving tenderly with John’s in a manner that could only be described as both inquisitive and cautious all at the same time. 

His hands found Sherlock’s bony hips as they kissed, which were at the perfect level due to their height difference.

Very gently, John licked at the seam of Sherlock’s lips, surprised when the detective immediately bid him entrance. 

Sherlock groaned into John’s mouth as their tongues found each other, his hands slipping into the doctor’s silvery blonde hair, and the reverberations of sensation sent a jolt of pleasure straight to John’s groin. 

Kissing Sherlock was a whole world away from kissing Mycroft, John thought as they clung to each other desperately in the moonlight, and he immediately knew he was where he belonged.

Where Mycroft’s caresses had felt comforting and safe, kissing Sherlock Holmes was like an instant contact high. His lips were a drug, drawing him into an addiction he never wanted to break.

John slowly backed them up against the nearest wall, feeling the exact moment Sherlock’s breathing hitched when their matching erections bumped together. 

His mouth slipped from Sherlock's lips to suck at the side of his elegant neck, eliciting a deep moan and another shiver. 

As he started to undo Sherlock's shirt buttons one by one, Sherlock threw his head back to allow him better access, and John smiled against him at how striking the bruises would look on his pale flesh.

The shirt finally fell from Sherlock's body, and John hummed appreciatively at the sight, stealing another bruising kiss from his swollen lips as he made quick work of removing his own so that they were skin on skin from the waist up. 

He reached out to run a hand through the dark patch of hair on Sherlock’s chest, before rotating his hips into Sherlock’s slowly to create a blissful friction as their achingly hard cocks rubbed together through the material of their trousers. 

“Let’s take this somewhere more comfortable” John suggested, taking Sherlock by the hand and towing him along behind him in the direction of his bedroom. Sherlock’s room was closer, but - if the night was going how John hoped - they would need supplies that John didn’t think Sherlock owned. 

Sherlock eagerly resumed kissing the doctor as they backed into the room, something John was certain he was never going to tire of. When the backs of Sherlock’s long legs hit the end of the bed, John wordlessly pressed him down onto it, his eyes locked on him as he hit the mattress. 

“How far do you want to take this?” John asked as he positioned himself between Sherlock’s legs, leaning over him so they could share kisses in between heavy, aroused breaths, “I’m not in a rush, we don’t have to go all of the way tonight. We can go at your pace – as slow as you need.”

“I… I'm rather at your mercy, John.” Sherlock blushed, “Although I have a lot of theoretical knowledge I'm rather lacking at the practical. Perhaps we could… just touch?”

John's heart swelled as he nodded and brought Sherlock's hand up to his mouth to kiss before beginning to kiss up Sherlock's neck and shoulders, over his chest and then back up to his lips which he kissed with passion, dipping his tongue into Sherlock's mouth and groaning as his hands explored across the soft, perfect skin of Sherlock's abdomen. Sherlock's breathing hitched when John brushed against his nipples which were swollen and taut against John's fingers. Smiling devilishly, John massaged the nubs with his fingertips, rolling them and pinching them gently as he kissed and licked with desire.

The noises Sherlock made were incredible. John was slightly worried he was going to come in his pants just from the soft, bitten off moans that Sherlock was breathing into his mouth.

“More...” Sherlock whispered, hands coming to cup John's face and stroke his nose and cheeks, seemingly obsessed with mapping out the shape of him.

John nodded, shifting his weight so he was laid on his side beside Sherlock on the bed, their thighs pushing together as John stroked a hand down Sherlock's stomach and chest, each circuit of his body going lower and lower, drifting down towards Sherlock's trousers.

“Oh for goodness sake, John!” Sherlock mewled, “Get on with it!”

“Bossy,” John grumbled happily before opening Sherlock's trousers, helping the detective to shimmy out of them until the fabric fell to the bedroom floor with a wisp of sound. Sherlock's cock was tenting his pants massively, the placket of his boxers was soaked through with precome which only made the long line of him more noticeable. John's mouth watered as he let his hand move across that bulge, cupping it and feeling his hand become wet from the ejaculate.

Sherlock whispered something under his breath, his back arching on the bed and his eyes fluttering closed as he raised his hips and attempted to get more friction. John obliged happily, moving his hand in increments and gripping, teasing, touching every inch he could through the fabric.

Sherlock's cock was thin and long, much like the man himself and John felt the urgent need to see it, to taste it and touch it. To smear the wetness across himself and use his own against Sherlock to mark them in a primal, feverish desire.

Deciding he couldn’t bear to wait any longer, John hooked a finger under the waistband of Sherlock’s damp boxers and slid them down and off the detective’s long legs, his flushed, slender cock springing free against his belly. 

“ _Christ_ , you really are beautiful from head to toe, aren’t you Sherlock?” he whispered, voice full of awe as he stared at the man. 

Sherlock blushed. 

“Perhaps we should see if my hypothesis is correct that the same is true of you” he grinned, fumbling to get to John’s pyjama trousers. 

Sherlock made quick work of ridding him of his trousers, lust blown pupils locking with John’s as he took hold of the last piece of clothing standing between them and total, delicious nakedness. 

The detective eagerly stripped them off John, and he laughed at the way Sherlock was eagerly drinking him in like a child in a sweet shop, wild eyes lingering on his engorged prick. 

John’s own cock was a little different to Sherlock’s, slightly shorter but thicker.

“So, was your hypothesis correct, then?” he grinned, one brow quirked. 

Sherlock’s mouth turned up into a smug smile.

“Yes, I was right, as always” he purred, eyes still flicking to John’s cock. 

John laughed. “You _can_ touch it you know, it won’t bloody bite you.” 

The younger man fumbled awkwardly as he took John’s member in hand, wrapping a tight-fisted hand around it and giving it a few experimental tugs. 

John hissed, letting his hips rock back and forth into Sherlock’s larger, masculine hand. It felt strange, definitely much different to being with a woman as Sherlock’s science callused fingers shakily rubbed and caressed with an innocence that showed his inexperience. 

_Not that John was complaining._

When the overwhelming urge to rut against Sherlock rose inside John, he pulled back, angling his hips away and forcing Sherlock’s hand to fall from his skin with a heavy thunk against the bed. Sherlock looked nervous, worried that he had somehow failed but John kissed him again and softly nuzzled against the man’s cheek “It felt too good. Didn’t want it to be over yet.”

Sherlock seemed happy to hear that and he returned the kisses willingly before John ran his own hands along the long, lean length of Sherlock’s torso, reaching down to cup the man’s scrotum in his palm and stroke as he began to slide down Sherlock’s body until his mouth was hovering over his cock. 

From up close, Sherlock looked terrifyingly large. His flushed tip was a dusky pink which was leaking clear fluid down the veined shaft, and John followed the trail with his eyes, inhaling the scent of masculine arousal so different to what he was used to.

Taking one of Sherlock’s hands in his own and entwining their fingers, John smiled reassuringly at the detective who was looking down, eyes blown massively in desire and his position giving him a ridiculous amount of chins which made him look both silly and adorable.

“Tonight is about you, not me” he smiled, “I want to make it good.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be the best judge…” Sherlock admitted, toes clenching in the duvet at the bottom of the bed, “But I’m sure I will enjoy it nonetheless.”

Smiling warmly, John reached for the base of Sherlock’s cock, holding it upright and feeling the hot, hot heat of him against his palm. Sherlock was biting his lip, anticipating the next move and John realised that he wanted to try and pleasure Sherlock with his mouth. He wanted to taste and swallow him down, keep a part of him inside no matter how small. 

Taking a deep and nervy breath, John gave Sherlock’s cock a few pumps and ran his hand over the slit to take away some of the abundant precome before anxiously leaning down and licking at the remainder of the slick gathering at the tip of Sherlock’s cock.

Sherlock moaned, and John slowly licked a blazing trail up it from base to tip, before closing his mouth around it with his eyes on the other man. 

It didn’t taste bad exactly, it was more the fullness of John’s mouth and the pressure against his tongue as he felt the weight against himself. He tried to create suction but coughed when a hint of the precome slipped down his throat. Attempting to be more careful he started a slower rhythm, attempting to focus on the head whilst his hand began a slow up and down motion to tease Sherlock.

The detective gasped, desperately arching his back into the sensation of being engulfed in wet heat, prompting John to slowly slide down on it to take him in as far as into his mouth as he could without gagging. It wasn’t too far, but for a first attempt, John felt quite proud that he was able to get a few inches down without retching.

John began to bob up and down on his length, swallowing the abundant precome as often as he could but still finding some dripping down his chin in an unattractive dribble, Sherlock’s hand moved up to fist John’s short hair as he built up into a steady rhythm, letting out small moans of pleasure and clenching their fingers together, gasping and whining with each seductive pull of John’s mouth. 

When Sherlock’s moans started to become more desperate, John slid off him with a filthy sounding pop, not wanting things to be over before they’d begun. Plus, if he was honest, his jaw was already starting to ache and he wasn’t sure how attractive Sherlock would find him after a bout of lockjaw.

He slid back up the bed and reached across Sherlock to rummage through his bedside drawer, making a triumphant noise when he successfully located a half-opened bottle of lube.

“Are you going to fuck me?” Sherlock asked, cheeks bright pink and eyes shining as he leaned in to kiss John, tongue flicking into his mouth to try and chase the taste of himself on John’s tongue.

“I… I thought we could use it to frot against each other? Like… rubbing?” John blushed, but the thought of taking Sherlock was incredibly arousing and his cock twitched against Sherlock’s leg at the thought, something which the detective noticed straight away and moaned at.

“You can fuck me…” Sherlock whispered, leaning to bite and nibble at John’s earlobe, “I want you to… I want to know how it feels.”

“Jesus, Sherlock.” John ground out, eyes fluttering back as his hips thrust forward to rub against Sherlock’s thigh, “Are you sure?”

“More than anything in the world, John,” Sherlock promised.

“It’ll take a while and -- it might not be comfortable at first…” John confessed, remembering the few times he had attempted to fuck his previously girlfriends anally. They hadn’t been fans of the sensation, and John was worried that Sherlock might not like it either - or that he was rushing into it.

“John…” Sherlock chastised with a glare, “I am perfectly aware of my own tolerances. I might be celibate but I’m not a monk… I have -- done things.” he blushed again, “By myself.”

“Oh… OH!” John finally caught on to what Sherlock was saying, then groaned low in his throat, “Is that what you do when I have an early night, eh? Wait until I’m in bed and then go to your room and finger yourself open?”

Sherlock blushed to his ears and mewled, “You’re trying to embarrass me.”

“Succeeding in embarrassing you.” John teased, kissing the corner of Sherlock’s mouth.

“And you’re wrong…” Sherlock said with a touch of defiance, “Sometimes I don’t even wait until you’re in bed. Many a time I have laid on my bed with my fingers inside me whilst I listen to you potter around the flat. Whistling and humming…” he reached down with his free hand and stroked his own cock, seemingly trying to stop the ache, “And sometimes I used to try and masturbate along with you. I'd hear you go in the shower or in your bedroom and I would try and follow you. You think you’re being quiet but you’re really not.”

“I always muffle myself! You couldn’t hear me through the door or the ceiling!” John scoffed,

“Really?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow, “Muffled like the other day in the shower? I didn’t hear what you said but I heard the noises. I heard your moans of orgasm.”

“I said, Sherlock.” John admitted, bending to suck a patch of Sherlock’s throat skin into his mouth, “I said your name.”

Sherlock groaned loudly and gripped the base of his cock tightly, breathing heavily and slamming his eyes shut, “Don’t speak… Don’t -- Don’t even look at me! Stop breathing!” he gasped, “Oh…”

John watched as Sherlock’s cock gave a few thickening pulses, twitching as Sherlock fought against the urge to ejaculate. It was incredibly erotic to watch as Sherlock battled with himself internally, trying to get control.

When the urge had passed, Sherlock slumped against the bed and cracked open his eyes, smiling shyly “The image was a little -- too provocative.”

“Seemingly.” John smiled but felt his heart throb with adoration. This silly bloody man that he loved.

They spent a few more minutes simply kissing and caressing one another, letting the tension simmer rather than boil over before John pulled back, stroking Sherlock’s hair back lovingly

“I have condoms,” John insisted, “I’ve never had unprotected sex and --”

“What if I suggested that we didn’t use them?” Sherlock asked, leg moving to shift between John’s to get closer, “Obviously I have never had any sexual contact, and I was tested last time I went to rehab. I know you’re clean because you’re insanely fastidious about getting tested even though you’ve never had unprotected sex…” he rocked his hips and moaned when their cocks brushed together, “Please? I want to feel it fully. I want to experience what it's like…”

“Fuck…” John moaned, knowing that this was a silly idea - there were still a lot of issues that could be caused by unprotected anal sex, plus the cleaning element was always easier - but he found that he couldn’t manage to care. He wanted to explore that area of sexual activity with someone who he loved and trusted unequivocally, “Okay… Yeah… Let’s do it.”

John felt his cock twitch in excitement at the mere thought of what Sherlock was asking him to do, the idea of being the first to _take him_ , of being allowed to claim the detective’s body as _his_ in whatever way he pleased. It was every fantasy he had ever had, made real. 

Flipping open the bottle of lube, he squeezed some out and coated his fingers in it, rubbing them together to warm it before gently tracing a finger around Sherlock’s puckered entrance. He massaged it in slow circles, then while keeping an eye on the other man the whole time to watch for any sign of panic or discomfort, he carefully pressed against it until his finger slipped inside. 

Sherlock gasped loudly as John began to slowly slide his finger in and out of his warm channel, making the concerned doctor immediately stop in his tracks.

“I’m alright, don’t _stop,_ for god’s sake!” Sherlock hissed impatiently, and John reluctantly resumed his ministrations. He added a second finger alongside the first when the detective started to moan filthily as the odd sensation turned to pleasure, arching his hips up urgently in a desperate attempt to draw John’s digits as far into himself as possible. 

With a wicked grin, John crooked his fingers just right to stroke and press at Sherlock’s sweet spot, finding it instantly thanks to many years of conducting prostate exams.

“Fucking _hell...Johnnn_!” Sherlock cried out loudly, practically levitating off the bed at the touch, head thrown back against the pillows and hands fisting in the twisted sheets beneath him. 

John took his time, wanting to be thorough whilst keeping Sherlock as comfortable as possible. Some time later when he was finally confident that he was as ready for him as he was going to get, John withdrew his slick fingers, Sherlock whining in protest at the loss. 

“Shh, have patience, Sherlock” he tutted affectionately, lips curving into a reassuring smile. 

Returning to the bottle of lube once more, John generously coated his throbbing cock, his own touch almost painful at this point, staring seductively at the sweaty man lying stark naked and half-ruined beneath him. 

Never had a more beautiful sight ever existed, as far as John was concerned.

John positioned himself over Sherlock’s body, gently nudging his legs apart a little further to line the head of his hard prick up with his entrance. 

Pausing, he reached up and stroked a stray curl out of Sherlock’s eyes. 

“Look at me, Sherlock.” 

Eyes the colour of the sea after a storm flicked up to meet his own. 

“I know you said you wanted this, but I need you to be _certain_ , Sherlock. If you want to stop here, I am not going to judge you, there is no shame in wanting to take it slow. I want your first time to be as _perfect_ as you are, as you deserve.”

Sherlock leaned up to press a lingering kiss to John’s swollen lips.  
  
“I meant what I said earlier, John. I want.... _need_ you _,_ more than I’ve ever needed anything in my entire life. I refuse to wait another moment when we’ve already lost so much time.” 

John sighed, and kissed him tenderly on the tip of his nose. Sherlock wasn’t wrong, part of him ached fiercely with sadness and regret that they had danced around each other for so bloody _long_ .  
  
“Alright. But if it gets too much, you will tell me, yeah?”

When Sherlock nodded, John entwined his free hand with his and gave it a small squeeze.

“Take a few deep breaths for me” he instructed gently, slowly applying more and more pressure to his entrance with the head of his cock until the man under him relaxed enough for him to slip the tip through the ring of tight muscle. 

Sherlock hissed, obviously unable to hide the grimace of pain and discomfort as he was stretched wider than he ever had been before. John stilled his hips, holding steady even though his entire body ached with the overwhelming desire to just _move._

“Alright?” John asked, pressing soft kisses to Sherlock’s face, across his cheeks and chin to try and distract Sherlock from the burning.

“Mmm” Sherlock grimaced, but he didn’t sound very convincing and John had to fight the urge to pull out and scrap the entire thing - as much as he loved the idea of being Sherlock’s first, he didn’t want to do it at the expense of Sherlock’s pleasure. “Just… Give me a second.”

John nodded, snaking his hand between their bodies so that he could carefully stroke Sherlock’s cock which had flagged significantly and was now mostly soft, leaking pre-come across John’s hand from the wrinkled skin of his foreskin. 

The pleasure of the touches seemed to make Sherlock relax a little, his muscles unclenching so that John was able to move in tiny increments, barely rocking back and forth but still allowing Sherlock to recover from the stretch. The hot heat of him wrapped around John’s bare cock was making his head spin and John let his forehead fall down to rest on Sherlock’s clavicle, breathing heavily as he rolled and rocked his hips.

“It’s -- feeling better.” Sherlock confessed, biting his bottom lip “Still feels like I’m being impaled but -- it’s not as intense.”

“It’s bloody intense for me…” John moaned, chuckling softly as he lifted his head to look at Sherlock and they shared a giddy smile.

Together they moved and kissed, luxuriating in the sensations as they built into a steady rhythm. Sherlock still winced occasionally, but now he also moaned, his cock becoming harder in John’s hand as he acclimated to the feeling. Soon, Sherlock had wrapped his legs around John’s back, changing the angle for John to push inside so that he was nudging at that special spot with every thrust. 

Listening with joy, John heard Sherlock’s hissed out noises turn to moans and then to shouts as they built up and up, harder and harder, with John sweating and panting down at Sherlock between passionate kisses. The sounds of sex and slickness echoed around the flat as John began to feel himself getting closer to his peak, desperately hoping that Sherlock reached orgasm first. 

“Sherlock…” John groaned, nipping at Sherlock’s swollen bottom lip as he adjusted his hold on Sherlock’s prick, stroking it rapidly with a wet noise as the precome made a slapping noise between their skin, “Please… Please come… I want you to come first…”

Gasping loudly, Sherlock nodded, eyes wide and glassy as he gulped and moaned, grabbing for John’s back and letting his nails dig in and slide down as he chased his climax. John couldn’t help it, he needed to kiss Sherlock with every atom of his being. He needed to swallow the orgasmic sounds and keep them safe within him.

Their kiss turned feral, messy and desperate as Sherlock cried out with bliss, grabbing and reaching to pull John closer, harder against him with a choking inhale and a yell of John’s name before he came hard, soaking between their bodies in pulses of thick, pearlescent come which made their bellies slippy as John continued to move desperately. 

“Fuck… Fuck… _Fuck! Sherlock, I’m coming!”_ John cried out, hips becoming shaky as he gave half a dozen thrusts before stilling and choking on a moan. His cock twitched, throbbed and then began to come hard, shooting off inside Sherlock in thick ribbons which only increased John’s arousal. The first time he had ever ejaculated into another person and it was the man he loved.

Sherlock reached up to touch John’s face, infatuated and dizzy with the rush of endorphins, “You can never leave me… Please, promise you won’t leave me?”

John felt his heart throb and a lump grow in his throat as he leaned down to kiss Sherlock’s forehead, his cheek and then the corner of his lips, “I swear it. You’re it for me. The only person I need.”

But, as great as the moment was, John knew that if he was to truly have any kind of honest relationship with Sherlock Holmes he was going to have to tell him the truth and bring their current happy state crashing down around them. He could only hope that their bond was strong enough to put the pieces back together. 

He gently pulled out, giving Sherlock a quick peck, before disentangling himself from their embrace to pad to the bathroom to retrieve a wet washcloth. 

When he returned, Sherlock had barely moved, still splayed out lazily on the bed. 

As he sat beside him and began to clean away their sticky mess, his hand stilled mid wipe, knowing he couldn’t put it off any longer. 

“Sherlock, there’s something I really need to tell you,” he said quietly, unable to make himself meet Sherlock’s eyes. He already hated himself for what he had done, so surely Sherlock would hate him too. 

Sherlock frowned at his tone, propping himself up on his elbows to look at John. 

“What is it, John?” he asked concernedly, brow furrowed and a large hand settling over John’s to lace their fingers together. 

“Well, I...the date with Mycroft was not genuine, Sherlock. Your brother orchestrated the entire thing in the hope that it would make you jealous enough to want me. I never had any feelings for him and vice versa. I went along with it because I was so desperate to finally have you, but it was so wrong of me to toy with your emotions so selfishly.” 

When he finally forced himself to meet the detective’s gaze, he was shocked to find that Sherlock was grinning. 

“I know it wasn’t, John. I worked it out before you even went on the date when you first told me of your plans with Mycroft.”

Floored, John’s jaw dropped open as he stared at the other man, blinking. 

“How the _bloody hell_ could you possibly have known that? You’re good Sherlock, but that is just ridiculous.” 

Sherlock laughed. 

“You are many things, John, but a good liar isn’t one of them. As you talked you presented every sign of someone not telling the truth there is. But I had to be sure, hence sending the informant that I’m sure my brother would have spotted quite immediately.”

“You’re not...angry?” John probed, unable to believe what he was hearing. 

“I suppose I ought to be, but I was so taken aback that you would willingly go to so much effort and self-sacrifice to actually resent you for it. Plus, you hate Mycroft almost as much as I do.”

John chuckled. 

"Not so much anymore. He's really not a bad guy sometimes, your brother. You really should give him a chance, Sherlock." 

Sherlock rolled his eyes good-naturedly, pressing a haphazard kiss to John's chest. 

"Hard pass, I know him as well as I care to, thank you very much."

John leaned down over him, a devious grin crossing his face.

"He's a bloody excellent kisser, too" he whispered huskily into Sherlock's ear. 

Sherlock growled, grabbing John by the arms to pull him onto the bed and roll him so that the doctor was beneath him, startling a small shriek out of the older man. 

Holding John in place, Sherlock immediately initiated a rough, bruising assault on John's mouth. 

They snogged in the dark for what felt to John like a euphoric eternity, the whole world fading to black around them. The way Sherlock Holmes felt, tasted and sounded were the only things that existed in John's universe in that moment. 

When the need for oxygen finally forced their lips apart, John rolled them over and sighed as he lay his head on Sherlock's broad chest. The sound of the younger man's steady heart beating beneath him was a soothing lullaby that was in serious danger of putting him to sleep. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's back, holding him as close as he could manage. 

"Sherlock?" he whispered some time later, raising his head to look at the man beneath him with heavy eyelids. 

"Mhmm?"

"I love you. So bloody much." 

Sherlock smiled. "And I you."

John slapped his arm, staring intensely into his lover's hypnotising eyes. "Say it. I want to hear you say it."

Sherlock pecked John's lips. 

"I...love...you...John...Hamish...Watson" he whispered fiercely, punctuating the space between each word with another kiss.

Happy. John was completely, deliriously, irrevocably happy. 

  
  
  


**Sometime later:**

“Oh… I saw Lestrade’s dick today.”

“You WHAT?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Chrissy and Kittie here...
> 
> There should be one more sort of chapter/prologue after this... but thank you so much for all of your support and comments. It's been overwhelming!


	5. Epilogue-Three Weeks Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, Gregory, how long have you been degrading yourself by throwing your sausage into that huge, pale pastry?”
> 
> “Sherlock Holmes! Jesus Christ!” John yelled, choking on his water and breaking into a coughing fit.
> 
> Greg had sunk down a few inches in his seat, looking as though he would quite like to hide under the table. John would happily join him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, its Chrissy here! On behalf of Kittie and I, I would like to say a big thank you for all the support and comments we have received from day one, when this fic was nothing more than an exciting idea in our heads.  
> We have had an absolute blast writing it, and hope that it has brought the same joy to others!  
> Bringing it to a close is bittersweet, with this being our baby for the last 3 or 4 weeks, but all good things must come to an end.  
> We hope you enjoy.

**Epilogue - Three Weeks Later**

John nudged Sherlock’s post coital body with his toe and sighed, “You know you can’t stay here all night.”

“Yes, I can. I have in fact done just that. Many a time.” Sherlock insisted, his head buried underneath the pillow which he had used to bite onto and muffle his orgasmic screams.

“Not tonight.” John sighed, “Come on! You promised.”

“John! You manipulated me. You told me about these plans whilst I had an erection! _An erection, John!_ You cannot seriously expect me to keep faith in plans made during a lack of blood flow to the brain. It’s foolish.” Sherlock grouched, peeping his eye from under the pillow to see if his complaints had worked. They hadn’t.

“Get up right this second, you lazy arse bastard.” John smirked as he jumped down and began to kiss and tickle Sherlock, tormenting him until Sherlock whined low and pushed John away,

“Fine! Bloody hell. I don’t see why I need to do this! It’s -- ridiculous! It’s torturous! You don’t understand, John… You don’t see what I see!” Sherlock whined low, “I can read every activity on Mycroft’s terrible body. I know exactly what Geoff and him are up to in that sordid little hovel of their bedroom!”

“Greg,” John reminded him, “And do you not think that Mycroft will be able to see that on you too? That he won’t be able to tell that an hour before our _double-date_ you were devilishly rogered over the bed?”

Sherlock pulled the cover from his face, and John saw the moment that his eyes lit up with excitement. The chance to possibly traumatize Mycroft with intimate details obviously making him slightly giddy. 

“Don’t even think about it, Sherlock. I will not have you using sordid little details of our sex life to torment your brother. We are working on you being nicer to him, remember? You did promise.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and shot John a withering glare.  
“Well I happened to be half asleep when that conversation occurred, if memory serves.”

John sighed.

_This is going to be a very long night_. 

“Just go shower and get bloody _dressed_ , will you? I refuse to be late when we were the ones to suggest this idea.” 

Sherlock grumbled something tersely under his breath.

Deciding desperate times called for desperate measures, John got up from the bed slowly and seductively, giving Sherlock a good look at his naked form as he crossed the room, pausing to look at Sherlock over his shoulder exaggeratedly as he sashayed towards the bathroom. 

Upon entering the shower, John started the water and began counting in his head.  
  


By the time he got to ten, a sex crazed detective threw open the shower door and slammed John against the tiled wall. 

John smiled. 

“Took you a good five seconds longer than I expected.” 

“Less talking, more kissing” Sherlock hissed, capturing John’s mouth in a rough, passionate kiss. 

John moaned as Sherlock practically forced his tongue through John’s lips to seek out his own, and slid his hands into the detective’s dark curls as they hungrily devoured each other's warm mouths. 

Sherlock was the first one to come up for air, and John watched in confusion as he gently lowered himself to the shower floor until he was kneeling in front of him, keeping his eyes trained on John’s. When they flicked to John’s already stiff cock standing to attention against his belly in front of him, he finally figured it out. 

“Sherlock, are you sure?” he whispered, cupping his pale cheek. 

The detective nodded. 

  
“Yes. It’s time I finally returned this particular favour, John.” 

“Just make it _quick_ , we don’t have a lot of time here!” John laughed, reaching down to give himself a few self indulgent strokes. 

Sherlock removed John’s hand, and nervously gave the tip of his flushed prick an experimental lick, swiping through the precome gathering at the slit, and John groaned loudly. 

“How interesting” Sherlock mused, before gently closing his lips around the glistening head. 

  
  
  


“Oh _Jesus_ , Sherlock!” John hissed at the deliciously sinful wet heat engulfing him, prompting the uncertain younger man to lower his mouth further and further down John’s length with every moan and expletive John uttered. He hit the back of Sherlock’s throat, and the detective gagged. 

“Easy does it. You won’t be much good to me if you bloody _choke_.” 

Easing back a bit, Sherlock began to slowly bob up and down on John’s throbbing member, gradually picking up the pace as he licked and sucked. 

When Sherlock began to get too enthusiastic, John got nervous. “Just be careful of your…- _TEETH_! Jesus!” John yelped, Sherlock’s tooth scraping the sensitive skin painfully before he could finish getting the warning out. 

Sherlock was so startled he slipped off him and fell on his arse. 

“Sorry!” he exclaimed, looking stung. 

“It’s alright, just be careful, okay? Get back here and finish what you started.” 

Hesitantly Sherlock went down on him again, only this time with John’s hand wound tightly into his dark curls to keep control of his movements. Within moments they had built up a steady rhythm, John throwing his head back in ecstasy and thrusting his hips towards his mouth as Sherlock gradually brought him closer and closer to climax.

“Christ, _Sherlock!_ I’m about to…” John managed to choke out in warning when he felt his pleasure reaching its highest point, and braced himself against the wall. 

When his orgasm ripped through him he tried to pull out in consideration for his inexperienced partner, but Sherlock held him firmly in place as he came, surprising him by swallowing down every last drop of his release. 

Sherlock slid off him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

_Dear god that was hot._

“How did I do? You appear quite satisfied.”  
  


John laughed, and Sherlock rose to kiss him with swollen lips. He could taste himself in Sherlock's mouth, and didn’t mind it. 

“Satisfied is an understatement. We’re going to have to work on the teeth though.” 

Sherlock’s eyes landed on his own throbbing, neglected cock, before pointedly staring at John.  
  
“We don’t have _time_ , Sherlock.” 

Sherlock gave him his best impression of puppy dog eyes, which only served to make him look like he was having a seizure. 

“Alright fine! But if we end up late, there’ll be no sex for a week!”

_________________________________________________ 

When they finally jumped out of the taxi and sprinted into the restaurant to get out of the rain, they were ten minutes late and John was already seriously regretting the idea of having to follow through on his promise to withhold sex. 

When they approached their table, they were met with Mycroft’s irritated glare, and a very amused Gregory Lestrade.

Neither of them made eye contact as they took their seats opposite the older couple, John awkwardly trying to right his hastily thrown on clothes, Sherlock fussing with hair so frizzy he could rival a show poodle. 

“We are so glad you were able to join us, gentlemen” Greg welcomed them with a smile when Mycroft failed to speak. 

“Thank you. I’m so sorry we’re late” John apologised, and nudged Sherlock with his elbow. 

  
“Yes, very sorry” Sherlock mumbled. 

Greg waved them off dismissively. 

“Sherlock and I would like to thank you both very much for your part in getting us together. I don’t know if we would have ever made that leap without the push” John smiled, entwining his hand with Sherlock’s on the table.

Mycroft smiled for the first time since they arrived. 

“It was our pleasure. Well just mine, technically, since John never accepted my offer” he amended, winking at John teasingly. 

“Mycroft! Behave!” Gregory hissed, and smacked Mycroft on the arm.

Sherlock’s furious grip on John’s hand became painful, and John blushed crimson. 

_Well this is off to a great start._

“What offer, John?” Sherlock asked, one eyebrow raised. 

Mycroft opened his mouth as if to answer, and John kicked him under the table, _hard_ . There was no way in hell Sherlock was ever going to find out that Mycroft Holmes had suggested John join him and Gregory for a _threesome_ . He was taking that little piece of trivia to his bloody _grave_.

“Nevermind Sherlock, it’s not important.” 

John was beyond relieved for the distraction when the waiter arrived to take their orders. 

“So, Gregory, how long have you been degrading yourself by throwing your sausage into that huge, pale pastry?” 

“Sherlock Holmes! Jesus C _hrist!_ ” John yelled, choking on his water and breaking into a coughing fit. 

Greg had sunk down a few inches in his seat, looking as though he would quite like to hide under the table. John would happily join him. 

Sherlock, on the other hand, clearly had no intention of closing his mouth. 

"Does he keep his suit on? Speak in Latin as he's approaching his climax?"

Mycroft snarled at Sherlock like a rabid beast, and Greg just groaned, putting his face in his hands. 

“You’ve been awfully quiet, Doctor Watson. So tell me, does Sherlock cry after sex? Did he faint the first time he saw you naked? Does he still suck his thumb like he did until he was twelve?” 

_This time I wish I did bring my gun. I’d shoot both of them in the bloody head._

Sherlock growled low in his throat. 

“Gregory, does my brother still make that high pitched squeal like a straining tennis player in bed, the one that you can hear from the other side of the house?”

Mycroft abruptly stood up from the table, storming into the bathroom. 

“I’m so sorry” Lestrade sighed, before rising to hurriedly trail after his boyfriend. 

When they were finally alone, John repeatedly banged his head against the table. 

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Sherlock.” 

“But...he started it!” Sherlock whined, crossing his arms like a petulant child. 

“You need to go in there and apologise to your brother. He might be older, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be the bigger man. Especially considering we wouldn’t be sitting here without him.”

Sherlock’s jaw clenched. 

“So my brother decided to play matchmaker because he was bored, and now I am indebted to him for the rest of eternity? Seems fair.” 

“That isn’t why he did it, and you know it. Now _go_!” 

There was a much bigger reason behind John’s urgency to have the younger man make up with Mycroft, and he wished he could explain it to Sherlock, but he had promised Greg he wouldn’t let the surprise slip.

Sherlock huffed and headed into the bathroom after Mycroft, but stopped in the doorway when he saw the other couple embracing against the marble counter. 

The devastated expression Mycroft’s face had crumpled into as he pressed it to Greg’s shoulder was one that Sherlock had never seen on his sibling. Emotions were always seen as a weakness between the pair, and Sherlock realised he had missed so much over the years.

“How is this ever going to work between him and I, if we can’t even sit in the same room as each other, Gregory? We’ve wasted our entire lives spitting venom at each other, and I’m so _tired_. I just want him to love me as much as I love him, to be as happy for us as I am for him and John!” Mycroft exclaimed, hand fisted in his partner’s shirt. 

“Perhaps you need to start by actually telling him what you just told me, Mycroft. I think Sherlock has been lost in the darkness of the conflict between you for so long that he’s forgotten.” 

Greg paused to rub Mycroft’s arms.

“To him, the idea that you worked so hard to see him happy with John is probably too far fetched for him to believe. He’s waiting for the catch, for the other shoe to drop. You need to show him that there isn’t one.”

“Why do you always have to be so right?” Mycroft sighed, giving him a short kiss.

“It’s a talent.”

Sherlock cleared his throat from behind them, interrupting the intimate moment.

“Mycroft?” 

The older Holmes brother let go of Lestrade and turned slowly, and their eyes met. An intense silence lingered between them in the small room, the pain etched in Mycroft’s face mirrored by Sherlock’s.

“I’ll give you two a moment alone” Gregory finally said, giving Mycroft’s hand a squeeze before shuffling past Sherlock awkwardly.

“How long were you standing there?” Mycroft asked when they were finally alone.

“Long enough.” 

“I’m sorry, Sherlock” Mycroft whispered. “I was not a good brother all of the time. I was neglectful and self-centered and I didn’t think. I saw that you were able and clever, I saw that you were independent and I -- I thought that you would manage alone, but I never considered that you were a child” he admitted, his eyes dropping to the floor.

“Myc...” Sherlock began, using the nickname from so many years ago.

“It’s true. I was a terrible big brother.”

“No!” Sherlock scoffed. “You were the best big brother. How else would I have learnt that the hottest planet in our solar system is 450° C?” 

Mycroft’s eyes flicked up, shocked that Sherlock remembered. 

“What other brother would have stayed awake to escort their demanding baby brother onto the garden lawn with a sleeping bag and a flask of tea to watch Halley's Comet pass by in 1986?” Sherlock said as his lower lip wobbled. “You were my best friend. Until John, you were my _only_ friend.”

Mycroft turned to look at Sherlock and was surprised when the taller man stepped close, wrapping his arms around his brother and holding him in an awkward hug. The politician paused, barely breathing as he returned the cuddle with a rough sigh. 

“We can discuss this in more detail in future.” Sherlock promised, “Tonight is not the time or the place… but I understand. I was angry and frustrated and I blamed you too much entirely.”

Their arms tensed around one another, squeezing just an inch more in the fluorescent lights of the bathroom.

“If you tell anyone I hugged you. I’ll murder you in your sleep” Sherlock whispered, making Mycroft laugh.

“I’ll deny it until my dying day, baby brother.”

Sherlock smiled sadly.

“I love you, Mycroft. I’m sorry that I never told you that.” 

“And I you, Sherlock. Now enough of this, too much sentiment is bad for digestion” Mycroft quipped, clapping Sherlock on the shoulder before departing with a smile. 

Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath before following his brother back to their table. 

___________________________________________

When Sherlock returned to his seat, John shot him a questioning look, unsure how to read the detective’s face. 

Sherlock nodded at him subtly with a reassuring smile, and draped his hand across the back of John’s chair. 

Relief flooded the older man, content that the encounter between the brothers had at least ended amicably, even if he didn’t know the details. 

  
Determined to rescue the evening, when the food arrived John started small talk between the four of them about the latest case he and Sherlock had solved while they all ate. The earlier hostility that had hung thick in the air was now gone, and the doctor could tell he wasn’t the only one relieved by the change in atmosphere. 

When dessert arrived some time later, John’s eyes slid to Greg, who sat up straighter in his chair as Mycroft stared at the cloche that was placed before him instead of his order. Sherlock frowned from where he sat beside John, just as confused. 

All eyes went to the plate as Mycroft slowly lifted off the lid, revealing a small velvet box sitting atop a pile of red rose petals. 

Gregory got up and knelt down on one knee, retrieving the box and opening it out towards a very stunned Mycroft, who was moments away from crying.

“Mycroft Holmes, the past two years have been the happiest of my life. You have made me a better man, taught me what it feels like to be truly loved. I want to be by your side for the rest of my life. Would you do me the incredible honour of marrying me?” 

“Yes. Nothing would make me happier, Gregory.” 

With tears brimming in his eyes, Mycroft held out his hand for him to slide the ring onto his finger. The ring that John knew for a fact was expensive enough to feed a third world country. 

Where Lestrade had gotten the money he had no idea.

Mycroft surged to his feet, and they shared a tender kiss, foreheads pressed together as the whole restaurant clapped and cheered, John clapped along, and turned to watch as Sherlock sat open mouthed and shocked. John touched his lovers chin with a smile and watched as he closed it with a snap.

When they returned to their seats, both men looked happier than John had ever seen them. Lestrade was grinning so widely it sent a shiver of second hand joy down John’s spine. 

“We are so incredibly happy for you both!” he smiled at the happy couple, running a soothing hand up Sherlock’s leg under the table when he noticed his boyfriend's mouth still hanging open, until he felt him relax beneath his touch. 

“Congratulations, brother. You make a wonderful couple” Sherlock finally added, reaching across to pat his brother on the arm. 

“Thank you, Sherlock” Mycroft smiled, and a loaded stare passed between the brothers. John didn’t need to be a detective to know that there were a thousand words being exchanged in that one moment of eye contact, words that he would never be able to even begin to decipher. 

Conversation turned to the story of how the proposal came about as Greg explained how John had helped him with everything from picking out the ring, to selecting the restaurant, and even planning the proposal itself. The couple then shared stories with John and Sherlock of their time dating. 

When it had gotten late and the restaurant had started to empty, the pair bid the newly engaged couple farewell, and stood in silence on the pavement a few minutes later in the cold night air, waiting for a taxi.

“When you propose to me, I want a bigger ring.” 

John wheezed out a disbelieving laugh.  
  
“Sherlock, we’ve been dating for _three weeks_!” 

“That does not affect the importance of my request.” 

“Someone is sure of themselves!”

Sherlock just stared at him with one eyebrow raised. 

“Alright fine! _If_ we ever get married, I’ll buy you a rock as big as your sodding _head_. Happy?” 

Sherlock grabbed John’s shirt and pulled him close enough to lavish a long, tender kiss upon his lips. 

“Yes, John. _Extremely_.” 

John rolled his eyes. 

“Oh and John?”  
  


“Yes, Sherlock?” 

“Are you going to tell me what Mycroft’s offer was?” 

John grinned.

“No, absolutely _not_."

**Author's Note:**

> If you are going to comment about our decision with the length/description of a character's penis and/or lack thereof; with how submissive/dominant a character seems to be to you; or how a certain character should sound, please don't bother. If you want specifics, want things to fit your interests, then either request a story or move on.
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcomed!
> 
> Feedback fuels us!


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